CHAPTER FIVE

 

 

 

“Competition day. What in the world is competition day?”

“Sounds like fun to me.”

“Well, it would, you’re a man.”

“I don’t like your tone.”

“Then go over there.”

“I want to sit here with you.”

“Why?”

“Because we are friends now. And because you are molto carino.”

I frowned at Salvatore over my morning tea. “Stop saying Italian phrases you know I don’t know.”

He shook his head while making a face. “No. I like saying things you don’t know.”

That earned Salvatore another scowl, but he gave me puppy dog eyes that looked so ridiculous that I had to smile at him.

Being friends with him was not the trial I thought it would be, but we had only been friends for one day, so I could not consider that a very good mark. Still, our walk yesterday had been one of the best days that I had had in a long time, and we hadn’t done much except walk through the countryside, chat with an overly exuberant family at the restaurant that Salvatore took me to, and talk about the other people at the house party in a good old-fashioned gossip session.

And I laughed. A lot.

It was a bizarre experience to laugh with him, considering I was not one for laughing generally, and he was not particularly amusing.

Except he was. And I did.

He never once tried to kiss me, and only took my hand to help me up onto a boulder to see the view. Even then, he’d dropped my hand as soon as we were situated.

Surprisingly, I thought I would have let him hold it if he’d done so.

But he was perfectly behaved, teasing me without malice, taking all of my jabs in return, and fulfilled his promise of being quiet so I could draw; though I wound up chatting with him while I did that anyway.

Turned out Salvatore was a good listener and surprisingly easy to talk to.

When he wasn’t being maddening, at any rate.

“I’ll compete against you, fatina,” he said now, pulling a piece of bacon from my plate and eating it.

I laughed once. “In what? Charm?”

“Oh, I would win that one. You couldn’t charm a puppy.”

I glared at him hard, feeling the sting, but he only grinned at me. “Art,” I ground out. “You couldn’t draw a stick figure with a ruler and instruction video.”

He laughed, making a wounded face. “Ouch! Donna crudele.”

I shrugged and took a bite of my muffin with jam. “That’s what they call me. Still want to be my friend?”

“Surprisingly, yes.” He smirked slightly. “I find you refreshingly original, e sorprendente.”

He was always throwing random Italian into our conversations, and it was rarely something I knew. It drove me crazy, as it sounded so lovely, so romantic and sultry, but he might have been calling me an over-burnt bag of crisps for all I knew.

“Your funeral,” I told him, fluttering my lashes.

“So many women will be there,” he sighed, sitting back and closing his eyes. “So many.”

I frowned at that. I didn’t have any claim over Salvatore, and wasn’t sure I’d even want one, but the thought of women fawning over him, or his hypothetically dead body, did not sit well. I knew what kind of man he had been and had seen his dissolute behavior first hand, and I’d only ever rolled my eyes about it before. But now…

“Come on, everyone! Into the cars!” Antonio suddenly bellowed throughout the house and out to the terrace.

“For what?” I grumbled, getting to my feet.

Salvatore yawned and slung an arm around me as I came to his side of the table. “Competition Day, Claire. Healthy, invigorating, team building competition.”

Shoving his arm off of me, I pulled my sunglasses out of my bag and put them on. “Well, I’m not competing in anything.”

He laughed and put a hand at my back. “Quindi tu dici,” he murmured near my ear.

I swatted at him irritably. “Stop doing that! I swear, you’re doing it just to spite me.”

“Of course I am.” He nudged me almost too sharply. “Someone has to ruffle your feathers. Who better than me?” He quirked his brows with a cheeky grin and got into a car with some of the other men, slapping hands and bumping fists.

There was no way I was going in that one.

“Claire!” Thalia and Rosalia called, waving at me. “Come with us!”

Well, that was better than riding with some of the other idiots. I exhaled shortly, forced a smile that I didn’t feel, and got in.

Competition was not something that I enjoyed. My entire life had been a competition, I hardly needed more of it. Physical competition was especially unwelcome, as I had absolutely no skills at anything in that regard. And I hardly needed to fail in more things than I already was.

We were off almost immediately and I looked at Rosalia without any friendly airs. “Where are we going and what are we doing?”

She didn’t pick up on my obvious spite. “We’re going to a sporting complex nearby. It’s just a bunch of silly games, nothing too hard. Some obstacle courses, some trivia games, and Severo divided us all into teams. There are shirts for everyone there.”

I barely avoided rolling my eyes. “I’m not a very good team player,” I muttered. “I ought to give my team a forfeit.”

Thalia chuckled and looked out of the window. “You can be on my team. I am abysmal at trivia, and you would be fantastic at that.”

“Fine.” I looked at Rosalia. “Will Severo mind?”

Rosalia grinned at us both. “I don’t care. It’s my party too.”

“Too right,” Thalia chirped. Then she turned and grinned at Rosalia. “Marco Silvestri seems to be spending a lot of time with you. Care to share?”

Rosalia blushed and eventually started talking about the two of them, but I tuned it all out. I didn’t have more than a passing interest there, and with this ridiculous day of competition ahead, I wasn’t in the mood to pretend otherwise.

Compete. I couldn’t compete with anyone. I knew that from experience.

Reminders of the fact were unpleasant.

 

 

 

Most of the games really were silly, just as Rosalia had said. Some were flat out stupid. They were the sorts of games played in primary schools, with the boys spinning around cricket bats and trying to run in a straight line or the girls having to leap frog over each other and the like. There had been an egg toss, a water balloon version of Battleship, human chess, laser tag, and, of all bizarre things, a version of chicken without the benefit of a pool that involved a sort of jousting with foam lances.

It was, I could admit, quite hilarious at times.

I didn’t laugh, but that was because I was in public and I never laughed in public.

Salvatore was good at almost everything, and several of the girls were noticing and talking about him, which did not help my mood. He was his usual charming self, and while he didn’t have any particular interaction with any woman in a way to make me critical of him, he smiled too much and didn’t look nearly as bored as he had been. I wanted him to be bored. I wanted him to be miserable. I wanted him to complain about everything with me. I wanted…

I shook myself as I watched the final team event, a tug of war, which I had been counted out of for my small size. I was grateful for that, and the others that had not been chosen were now cheering hard.

I was indifferent to whether or not my yellow team won.

But Salvatore was in the middle of the yellow team pack, and for some reason, that was something I was not indifferent to.

He pulled and strained with the rest, and it seemed that muscles appeared on his legs and forearms that hadn’t been there before. He was sweaty like the rest of the men, and most of us girls, but while they looked tired and gross, he only looked virile and strong.

What an irritating thought.

My team cheered when we pulled the flag across the line, but I only exhaled a rush of air, completely unaware that I’d been holding my breath.

What in the world would I do that for?

Antonio picked up a megaphone and bellowed his congratulations to the yellow team, then started rambling quickly in Italian and said something that made everyone cheer even louder and start applauding.

“What did he say?” I asked Thalia, who was now standing beside me.

She snorted. “He said everything has added up to a tie, including the trivia that you routed everyone in, and the only way to break the tie is for the boys to play a game of futbol.”

I looked around at the group and frowned. “There are uneven numbers of men on each team. Yellow has a lot more than blue.”

“Right,” she agreed, nodding and starting to walk in the direction everyone else was, waving at me to follow. “Which is why they are being reorganized and it will be a shirts versus skins game.”

I rolled my eyes with a groan. “This isn’t a tie breaker, it’s an excuse to show off for the girls.”

“Of course it is,” Rosalia said she bounded up beside us. “Severo and Antonio made sure to be on the skins team. They’ve been tanning for weeks in preparation.”

We all snorted our laughter and joined the rest of the girls in the stands.

Marco, I noticed, was also on the skins team.

So was Salvatore.

And as the teams met midfield, the girls in the stands whistled and whooped, which was absolutely ridiculous. But I actually agreed with the sentiment.

It was quite a sight to behold.

The shirts team was not at all pleased by the response and started shouting up at the girls, which only made them laugh and call back to them.

“This should be good,” Rosalia muttered to us, leaning forward. “The shirts team has all the skilled players. More of the attractive ones, too. Whoever chose teams did a terrible job.”

I didn’t think so. If the game could be over quicker, we could all go back to the villa.

But in the meantime, why not enjoy a spectacle?

That thought process didn’t last long. As soon as the game started, it was clear that these European men, from different nationalities, all played the same way: dirty. They were aggressive and intense, and even the players considered unskilled were displaying the sort of athleticism that wasn’t typical for playboys and partiers.

I wasn’t the biggest supporter of any particular futbol team unless it was a charity match or the World Cup, had never claimed to understand the passion that took over all of Europe with everything relating to the sport. But this was different. I was riveted on the game, caught up in all of it, and especially focused on Salvatore.

It didn’t hurt that he had the body of a god. I knew he must have looked something like that from the way his clothing fit and his build, but until this game I had never considered how that would play out. He was as chiseled as any sculpture I had ever seen, with the added benefit of being made from pure flesh that rippled and moved with every motion of his body. He was graceful in his motions, coiled with power and strength that captivated me.

I itched to sketch him like this, grinning and easy while on display and moving. His hair was moistening with sweat, disheveling it further, which only added to his charm. But I didn’t want to look away, not even for a second.

I couldn’t miss a thing.

I’d completely forgotten to be impassive and composed as the game had gone on. I had been just as ruthless in my jeering of the officials, screaming at the other team, cheering when the skins team scored and giving high fives to the girls around me in celebration. I didn’t even recognize myself, and I didn’t care.

They didn’t play a full game, which we were all grateful for, especially considering the tenacious way they were playing. There would have been several fights and several injuries if the game had gone on longer than it already was destined to. The game was tied at two points apiece and had been for some time. Each time someone had been close enough to score, whatever scheme they’d planned was easily prevented, though there had been several incredible attempts.

Just then, the skins team, led by Salvatore, made a push for the goal. He passed to Antonio, who slid it to Severo easily. Severo maneuvered around another player or two, then dropped it back to Marco. Marco drove it up the field further, then passed the ball skillfully back over to Salvatore in the corner.

I held my breath as he moved back towards the center, battling roughly with two defenders. He moved to take a shot on goal and was suddenly knocked aside by a third defender, who sent him tumbling to the ground with a sickening thud we could hear from the stands.

There was a moment of absolute silence in the stands, and then the murmur of voices started up again.

Salvatore wasn’t moving.

The players on the field started to gather around him, even the one that had hit him.

“Claire,” Thalia said in a rough voice beside me.

I didn’t realize I’d stood, or that I was gripping her hand so tightly it hurt my fingers, or that I had started a sort of panicked breathing that was getting louder. I clamped down on my lips hard, stifling a whimper.

My eyes were fixed on Salvatore as if my life depended on it.

Move, I ordered, as if he were standing next to me and irritating the life out of me again. Move, or so help me…

His leg moved just then, and then the other, shifting until both knees were bent.

Two men in the circle started to laugh, and then the girls in the stands began screaming for a foul against the shirted team.

Thalia and Rosalia screamed along with them, but I couldn’t join in.

There were tears in my eyes as two of the other players lifted Salvatore up, slinging his arms around them and carrying him off the field. He was smiling, though he grabbed at his knee as soon as they set him down on the bench. He was sporting a bruise on his cheek, I could see it from here, but he laughed and shooed the others back into the game, bellowing what I could only imagine was a demand for a penalty.

“Here,” Thalia told me, shoving something into my hand.

I looked down at it, surprised at the napkin there. I glanced at her in confusion.

She looked at Rosalia, who was grinning, then back at me with an amused smile and mimicked wiping her eyes.

I felt my cheeks and was stunned to find tears flowing.

I was no crier, yet here I was crying with fear and relief over a man I had just recently become friends with and found pleasure in looking at.

How embarrassing.

I quickly wiped my face and sat down, determined to not focus on the game at all to save myself any further embarrassing displays.

Salvatore was fine. He wasn’t injured badly, and even if he were, it wasn’t any of my business. I didn’t need to care about that. I shouldn’t care about that.

Or him.

“I heard him speaking Italian to you today,” Thalia murmured softly so Rosalia couldn’t hear. “Just a bit.”

I nodded once. “He likes to irk me by randomly saying phrases he knows I won’t understand.”

She chuckled softly. “Odd. And you don’t know any of it?”

“Mostly, no.”

She stared at me for a long moment, then looked out over the field where he sat, his injuries apparently forgotten as he half hobbled up the sidelines, still bellowing. “Do you want to know what I heard this morning?”

Did I? I glanced at Salvatore myself, then smirked. If he were insulting me without retribution, I absolutely wanted to know it. He wouldn’t smile so much if he knew I had caught on.

I nodded quickly. “Tell me.”

Thalia leaned closer. “When he said you were refreshingly original? He also said you were cute.”

I jerked away, staring at her. “What?”

“And then as you were walking towards the cars together, and you said something about not competing in anything? He said, ‘So you say’.”

My heart jumped into my throat as I replayed what he had said, how he had said it, and now knowing the words… What did he think I was competing at? What could I compete at?

He thought I was cute?

The other night he had said I was sexy in my heels, but he had been teasing me, a man on the prowl, in his element. This morning was nothing special. I hadn’t even put on makeup this morning.

Cute?

People started moving out of the stands and off the field and I looked at Thalia in surprise. “It’s over?”

She nodded, standing herself. “Shirts won. Cheap calls, though. We’ll be hearing about it for days.”

Rosalia groaned and shook her head. “That’s just what we need, more stupid competition talk. They’ll probably come up with something stupid to make up for it. I’ll try and talk some sense into them.” She started down the steps quickly.

“Go see Marco first,” Thalia told her with a suggestive smile. “He played well.”

That earned her an embarrassed laugh and neither of us had any doubt she would do just that.

“And you, my friend,” she murmured to me, “have someone to see to as well. I’ll get the girls away from here, you take your time. The car will wait.”

I blinked without answering, and then she was gone.

Salvatore was still on the other side of the field, chatting with Davide and Francisco, who had played on the shirts team. All three were smiling and seemed more human and normal than I had ever seen any of them.

I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to scold him for being an idiot. For being too invested in a stupid game. For scaring me.

For making me want to watch him more than I’d ever expected.

Somehow I got up without meaning to and found myself walking across the field.

He saw me and said something to the others that sent them heading in the direction of the cars, and then he was coming towards me as well. He walked almost normally, though the bruise on his knee was now worse than the one on his face.

His shirt was slung over one shoulder, and his chest glistened still with sweat.

I tried my best to ignore that.

“What did you think, fatina?” he asked when he was close enough. “Did I win your favor?”

I snorted, though hearing him tease me made my heart skitter after what I’d been through. “You weren’t playing for favors. You were playing for fame and glory, and look what that got you.” I gestured at his face and his knee.

He chuckled and touched his cheek gingerly. “No doubt it will bruise beautifully. You’re the artist, Claire, don’t you think it will be a sight to see?”

I shook my head, my throat squeezing at the thought. “I’ve never found that sort of thing to be attractive or in any way artistic.”

His dark eyes narrowed slightly and he put his hands on his hips. “Most women find the injuries to be signs of masculinity. They would fawn and tend to my wounds, praise me for such vigor. But not you.”

Again, my head was shaking, this time of its own accord. “Not me. I think you’re an idiot. A stupid, foolish, colossal idiot to play that way. You could have been truly injured, suffered a head injury or something, and then where would you be?”

Salvatore stilled, but tilted his head. “Were you worried about me, Claire?” he asked with a smile.

I swallowed. “No,” I replied, convincing no one.

His smile twitched. “Liar.”

I closed my eyes as if the lids were suddenly too heavy. “Yes.”

“You were?”

I could only nod, opening my eyes to look at him again, knowing the expression in them would be raw and vulnerable.

I didn’t care.

He almost seemed to laugh, shaking his head, and then he was coming towards me, his fingers sliding easily into my hair as he brought his lips to mine. His thumbs stroked along my cheeks as he gently kissed me over and over again, and I let him.

More than that, I kissed him back. I slid my arms around his neck and lifted myself up, pressing back against him, letting my lips linger a little too long against his.

This was not the passionate frenzy from the first night. This was sweet and tender and emotional, something I maybe had never experienced in a kiss before.

I suddenly wondered why anyone ever kissed with anything less.

He kissed me softly once more, then rubbed his lips against mine in a nuzzle, exhaling slowly.

“Don’t do anything like that again,” I whispered, gripping his neck. “That was terrifying.”

He chuckled and I felt his smile against my own mouth. “Claire… Ti penso sempre, ogni giorno.  In ogni cosa.”

That didn’t sound like an apology, but his word rippled up and down my spine like the most stirring sort of wave.

I pulled back, swallowing down my desire to swoon against him. “What’s that mean?”

Salvatore smiled, making a hum of amusement. “It means ‘that was good’.”

I bit my lip, but a laugh escaped anyway. “No, it doesn’t.”

He shrugged and slid his hands down to lace our fingers. “Well, it was.” He winked and tugged me along, heading for the cars.

“You really are an idiot,” I muttered, pretending I wasn’t loving the feeling of our fingers together.

“I know. And that really did hurt.”

“I’m not tending to your wounds.”

“You kissed me. I feel better already.”

I nudged him hard in the ribs and he wheezed a laugh.

And I may have smiled.